Pumpernickel
by Olympian-Goddess
Summary: Follow the story of Pumper Kelt as she faces the faction choosing ceremony as a daughter of the factionless. With only a father for guidance after her mother and brother are taken from her, will she make the right choice to find them again? Or will she be cast out to join the factionless once again for the rest of her life?
1. Prologue: A Promise

A cry rang throughout the small apartment. Lights flashed on and murmurs began echoing from an almost barren bedroom containing a single bed and nothing else but concrete flooring and walls. A distraught little girl was cowering in her bed, tear-streaked, clutching her sheets to her chest. A woman, her mother, sat beside her on the bed cradling the small child comfortingly.

"What was it this time?" The mother began stroking the girl's soft, black hair.

"They were h-hurting me," the girl managed between sobs.

"I've told you baby," the mother cooed. "They aren't real. They can't touch you."

"B-but it feels so real…"

"I know, I know…" The mother took her daughter's face in her hands, "But you have to be strong, Pumpkin."

"Why is this happening?"

The mother searched the girl's eyes. "I-I don't know."

A boy with tussled black hair stumbled through the doorway, still yawning. "Is Pumper okay?"

The mother pulled the girl's wet hair back from her face. "She's gonna be fine. She's my strong girl. Aren't you?"

Pumper nodded and wiped at her nose.

The mother stood. "You both need to go back to bed. I'll make something special for breakfast tomorrow, okay?" She kissed them both on the forehead and left the bedroom.

"They happen more now, don't they?" the boy asked, still standing at the doorway.

"Yeah," Pumper answered weakly.

"Pumper."

It wasn't a question, but she replied anyway. "Yes?" When she looked up, the boy's eyes were downcast and his messy hair covered his face, hiding his expression.

"Do you feel safe?"

"What?"

"With me. Do you feel safe with me?"

"Wh-why?" She didn't understand what he was asking.

He looked up and crossed to her, tears glinting in his eyes. "Because I want you to trust me."

"I trust you. You're my brother." She said it as though nothing else was plausible.

"No." He took her hands. "I want you to know, that no matter what, I will protect you. Okay?"

"Quinten-"

"You don't need to be scared anymore!" he nearly cried.

Her mouth hung open. "Then I-I won't be."

"Good."

"Is there something wrong?" Pumper asked, confused by his intensity.

"You should go to sleep." He stood and exited her room, stopping at the door to turn the light off.

"Goodnight. I love you." Pumper said. She pulled her covers back over her and reclined slowly into sleep.

"I love you too." Quinten whispered as he shut the door.


	2. Chapter 1: The Last Night

**Hello there! This is your glorious author. Or… glamorous author. Whichever works for me. ;) Hope you like this. I do. Well, obviously, or I wouldn't have written it!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Divergent Trilogy… yet. Hah! Enjoy!**

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Chapter #1: The Last Night

When I looked out at the city, sometimes I could block out all of the destruction. Sometimes the shiny parts of the buildings caused me to overlook the flame-scarred towers, garbage-sprinkled streets and smoky air. Sometimes if I let my eyes unfocus, all I could see was light, and I could imagine myself somewhere else, lying in a field of green, where everything was soft and warm, instead of cold and harsh like my cement city.

A drop of water fell on my forearm and I looked at the sky. The sun still shined, but the sky was randomly splattered with dark-grey clouds. One of which was directly above my head.

I took one last longing look at the cluster of buildings and then turned away to the inside of the building behind me. It was dark and bare like all of the other deserted buildings throughout the city. This was the tallest one in the Factionless district and I had taken up residence on the top floor. (Well, the topmost floor since all the ones above it had been destroyed.)

It had once been a beautiful room. You could tell because the moldings around the ceiling were gold-colored and intricately stenciled. The floor was wide, wide enough for several tables and chairs. It had probably been a meeting room for important people in the pre-war days, when things were… well… not blown up.

A giant hole marked the center of the room where supports had failed enough to create a long jump from the top of the building to the bottom. Off the edge of the pit, the end of a rope clung to three separate pillars around the room; the rest of the rope hung down into the pit's giant maw.

I took the rope in my hands and maneuvered myself off the edge. Knots riddled the rope every few feet. Ascending the rope usually took an hour. Descending took half that time. If you didn't care about blisters, descending could take 7 minutes. If you didn't care about life, descending could take 30 seconds.

I had gotten faster and stronger over the years I had my rope climb. At first, I could only climb it a few times a month, but as my muscles grew, it became once a week, and then once a day. I like to think that I started climbing to provide an escape from my life as a Factionless. Like my rooftop view gave my life a little more meaning than regular daytime chores. But, that wasn't the reason. I was doing it because I wanted to become strong. I wanted to be able to take care of myself. And somehow, this ridiculous idea of 'training' provided that for me.

I didn't even realize this, though, until I started climbing it twice a day. The building was at least 40 stories tall. Why would I do that to myself?

I would do 3 or 4 hours of climbing and only take in my view for about 10 minutes. I still had no idea why. But I continued regardless.

As I neared the halfway point, rope started turning into extension power cords and long strips of cloth. The knots became smaller and farther apart.

It's not like a Factionless could ask for 400 feet of rope. Factionless couldn't ask for anything. Factionless were, at the very best, slaves. We couldn't get jobs in city buildings. We were trash sorters. We got paid in leftovers. And those leftovers came usually by way of trashcans. A lot of the Factionless died contracting diseases from eating spoiled and rotten food.

Our only saving grace was the Abnegation. They fed us. Real food. They gave us medicine, blankets, and, if you believe in that sort of thing, hope. But even then, it wasn't enough. Living in the garbage all of your life, as I have, gives you a certain perspective on life. You will never be smart enough, you will never be clean enough, you will never be worth enough. Even though I went to school, I was never accepted. They made disgusted faces. They called me names. But, what could I do? I had no faction members to save me. If you got kicked out of your faction, this was the life you got to look forward to.

But I wasn't kicked out. I was born into it.

Those born from Factionless went to school. They took part in the choosing ceremony. They were given a chance and I suppose I should be happy about that. Not being kicked aside because of who my parents were. Maybe I wasn't kicked aside by the city education board, but I was kicked aside by my peers. Most days I refused to go to school, only to concede after my father convinced me with his look.

My father's eyes could convince a Candor to lie. I'm told I inherited them. But I had no way of knowing for myself. Dad developed that look after Mom's death. His eyebrows would scrunch together and point up, forming a roof over his eyes. The skin around his eyes would tighten and a line of wet would appear right on his water line. I couldn't stand that look, and neither could Quinten when Dad used it on him.

Quinten had left about 3 years before. Dad and I hadn't been able to watch his choosing ceremony, not being allowed within city limits unless it was just me for school. So, we had no idea of where he was, no idea of who he was being. Before the choosing ceremony was probably the last time I would ever see him again. Which had been devastating, because he had been so much more than a brother. He'd been a protector. A Comfort. A Mentor. And my best friend.

My thoughts slipped away as the last of the rope flipped out of my hands and I dropped several feet to the floor of the building. I dusted my brown clothes off (not that it mattered) and stepped out of the building into the rain-hindered sunshine. The compound wasn't far and it was Thursday. Abnegation fed us on Thursday.

"Feeling a bit jaunty today?" A woman asked as I bounded into the serving room and plopped down at a table. She wore Abnegation gray clothes and was handing out bowls of soup to eager, grabby hands at the table. One of the bowls was forcefully taken, splashing the woman's clothes, but she blinked, but didn't seem to care.

"Yes, this is my last meal here," I replied.

"Oh," she said, handing a bowl to me which I accepted with a thankful nod. "You choose tomorrow?"

I nodded again.

"You must be nervous."

"I'm worried," I said, truthfully.

"Don't worry." She smiled. "Everything will be great."

I smiled back, but grimaced when her back turned. That was a textbook answer. Something adults are supposed to say. But they don't really know if everything's going to be okay. In fact, a lot could happen that would not be 'great'. I could be denied 'Testability' on some board member's whim. I could not know enough about the factions to choose the wrong one where I wouldn't fit in and be kicked out, Factionless again. Or I could make a wrong move, disrespect someone, and get myself shot from lack of knowledge of social order. So, yeah, 'don't worry' is not something you tell a Factionless-born teenager.

I was staring into my soup when I felt a warm, callused hand on my shoulder. I looked up into my father's eyes. He was sad.

"What's wrong?" I started.

He sat down beside me. "Nothing, I just… I lost one kid already. Do I have to lose another?" He smiled humorlessly.

"Oh, come on," I protested. "That's not fair."

"I'm kidding," he said. "Kind of."

"You should be happy for me."

"I am."

"I'm finally getting out of here."

"Pumper."

"What? I'm not going to pretend that life here was a dream. Because, wake up Dad, every one of these people deserve a second chance."

"I know that. And I've done the best with what I can."

When I was young, the Factionless were spread out. Wanderers living for themselves and no one else. Many died. Until my father met my mother.

Together, my parents began gathering up the rejected. We began depending on each other, but we prospered. We lived in an apartment building together and everyone contributed for our survival. The Factionless from Dauntless hunted for food, those from Erudite developed energy and light sources for each apartment, and those from Abnegation divided the supplies equally. For once in a long time, a future was almost possible for the Factionless.

But of course, all good stories have to end. The Factions found out about what we were doing. Surviving, we called it. Rebellion, they called it. Someone decided that our survival meant that we were banding together to attack the other Factions. So they did what scared people do. They attacked us. We were exterminated like rodents. Everyone fled and we lived alone again and in fear. Soon after that, my mother died. Of the flu. Or so I'm told; I was very young at the time. I don't remember much.

And now? It was happening again. We were starting to come together.

"Being the leader of the Factionless is nothing to brag about."

"Who says?" he cuffed me light-heartedly on the chin. "We're almost a Faction of our very own."

"Don't let the Abnegation hear you say that. Or anyone for that matter."

"Just you," he said, tussling my hair.

I looked back at my soup seeing it dimly on the table. The sky outside the window had darkened.

"I didn't realize how late it is."

"Yes," Dad said. "You should probably head to bed. Big day tomorrow."

"Ugh," I groaned. "Don't remind me."

I started up the steps that led to my room. I looked back at him. "Are you going to be okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know, here. Without me to keep you in check."

He laughed. "I'm sure I'll be fine."

I looked down. Another textbook answer.

"Goodnight, Pumper. Sleep well."

"Night, Dad."


End file.
